


It was you

by Hyko



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyko/pseuds/Hyko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and the rest of the Yard just wanted to forget all the awful things in the after cases, but what started as a meet up every friday ended being a ritual. </p><p>When Sherlock ask to accompany him, John realizes he is not ready yet to let him know about <i>'the game'</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhichWolfWins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/gifts).



> This is my gift for [WhichWolfWins](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/).
> 
> From the [Johnlockchallenges](http://johnlockchallenges.tumblr.com/) Grab Bag Challenge.
> 
> The prompt was a single line “ **It was you** ”.
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit:** Special thanks to the lovely [Venvephe](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/) who betaed my fic. As I've said before, you're an angel!

It began as a game.

 

That ended terribly wrong.

 

 

*****

It was one of those difficult cases, the ones that leave you exhausted and mentally ill of every wrong thing in the world, which started it.

 

First it was only Lestrade, two other officers and John having just a spare night and some pints in Greg’s house.

 

Less than three months later, it had become almost a ritual. Every single Friday night the guys from the Yard that were off-duty would spend the evening together for some free beers, chips and music to enjoy themselves until early morning.

 

Nothing odd about that, everything absolutely normal.

 

 _Boring_  normal, even.

 

Then Sherlock asked John to let him tag along.

 

 

*****

 

John wasn’t sure about bringing Sherlock with him. It was no mystery that nobody wanted him there, and he wasn’t especially looking forward to detective feeling outcasted -after all, he was John’s best friend- and, regardless of all the fun he was having, the moment anyone called Sherlock 'freak' was the moment John would stop attending.

 

What really worried him was Sherlock’s possible reaction to ‘the game’.

 

As an unspoken rule, nobody said a word about it. Even the genius only figured out a little.

 

He supposed the worst that could happen would be Sherlock saying something really awful; maybe about how stupid the game was and then proceed to ruin everyone’s fun, get banned from the next Friday and everything returning to normality the next meeting.

 

He wasn’t sure that it was a good decision but the rational way Sherlock explained why he should go, and shot John his ‘I know what I’m getting into’ to convince the doctor, was enough to ease his reticence.

 

Of course he should have known better. If something wrong could happen with Sherlock,  _it would_.

 

 

*****

 

John was already in his favorite outfit, a warm cable knit jumper and his only pair of designer Uniqlo jeans that knew better times, pouring tea into two cups when Sherlock came downstairs.

 

His hair was damp from showering and the doctor could smell the mint from the bath soap mingled with expensive cologne and  _something else_ utterly Sherlock. He was wearing a two button, slim cut jacket over a purple button down shirt and black narrow leg trousers.

 

He looked as stunning as always and something funny lurched in John’s stomach.

 

This wasn’t new to John either; he had already realized something happened to him whenever Sherlock was around. He became extremely aware of the other man.

 

There was no point in thinking too much about it, the consulting detective had said he was  _married to his work_  and John was straight. Nothing to look in there, thank you very much.

 

But the doctor was nervous tonight, his stomach churning for another reason too. Should he tell Sherlock what all the fuss of the game was about outright and see if the curiosity of the detective faded? so that he would prefer to stay home and never ask again?

 

John snorted.  _‘As if’_

 

“What is so amusing?” Sherlock regarded him with a piercing stare. John swallowed.

 

“Here, Sherlock,” John extended the cup across the kitchen table, ignoring the question for the best, “are you ready? It usually starts around seven but we’re a bit late.”

 

“I don’t see the point of being so punctual, John. It’s not like you haven’t frequented it for the past two months by now.”

 

 _' _Well, yes. But then, the first two hours are only to get some alcohol in the system and get more comfortable for the game,’_  _John thought. Tonight, no amount of cheap liquor and beer could make him ease the knot in his throat anyway.

 

Those were dangerous thoughts, and knowing the deduction ability of the man in front of him, John chose to change that trail of thinking- for the moment.

 

“You know I don’t like to be late, ever. Don't think just because this is some kind of ritual of yours-to spend thirty minutes in the bathroom- I’d make any exception, Sherlock.” John finished his tea and stood to wash up the mug in the sink.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand how look presentable and clean as _I do_  works, John.” The dark haired man snorted, finishing his tea as well and sending a glare in John's direction.

 

“I’m more surprised  _you_  even know what those two things mean, to be honest,” John regarded him with an amused expression, pulling on his parka and waiting for the detective with a hand already on the handle of the door. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. You spent too much time with bloody body parts and chemicals!”

 

Sherlock scowled at him, which only made John laugh as he exited the flat. After putting on the dark coat and scarf Sherlock followed suit.

 

 

*****

 

“I’m starting to believe you relish masochism,” barked the detective. John, who was by all means trying to blend in with the wallpaper, stared at him in disbelief.

 

“ _You_  were the one who wanted to come in the first place, Sherlock!” his voice was maybe two octaves higher than he'd intended-he  _might_  have finished at least two beers since they arrived at the party and the alcohol was starting to do its work on him apparently- because two girls standing nearby sent amused looks his way.

 

John took a deep breath to steady himself and sent a weary look to Sherlock.

 

“Look, we still have time to go back to the flat and I’m willing to forget that you ever asked me to come today. Believe when I say that’d be a wise decision.” He tried to sound reasonable but he was truly desperate for Sherlock to accept the offer, and a bit of panic slipped into his tone.

 

When they had arrived, it was as unpleasant a welcome as he had expected. The first person who saw them was Sally Donovan who, thanks heavens, knew better than to start a fight of wills by calling Sherlock a freak. Instead she gave them the cold shoulder.  As did half the other guests, John noticed.

 

There was also Inspector Dimmock, apparently invited by Anderson of all the people. And some other friendly faces as well. Molly, accompanied by the red haired officer guy from the boomerang incident- John wished he could remember his name.

 

And Greg Lestrade, of course, who was trying his best to encourage everyone to get along and failing miserably in his attempts to integrate Sherlock into any civilized conversation  _without_  him blowing up his efforts with a cruel remark on someone’s outfit or, even worse, affairs.

 

They’d been there only an hour and Sherlock was already on everyone’s black list so far. Fucking perfect. He needed other beer.

 

“I’d say that me being the  _buzzkill_  of this party is not what has you so prickly, John; you’re used to my behavior and the subsequent response of the people.” John was finishing his third pint when he heard the deep baritone, and a slender hand came in his line of vision to grab the glass, pulling it away from his mouth. “And making yourself drunk won’t stop me from deducing why. Sooner or later, it doesn’t matter when.”

 

John inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to regain some control over his body's small betrayals. He almost succeeded, but then he noticed how closely the taller man was leaning over him, taking up all his personal space and examining the ex-soldier with interest. A trembling shudder went through him like an electric shock.  _‘When did he…?’_

 

“Oi there John, hullo!” At that moment, a high-pitching female voice interrupted them. It wasn't hard to see who called him: a petite blonde wearing a notched neckline dress was making a bee-line for them. “I knew you’d come, you look handsome today! New jumper?”

 

John saw out of the corner of his eye how the detective huffed.  _‘The twat.’_

 

“Ah…Mary, right?” He barely remembered that she was one of the new CID officers under training, and he was glad he didn’t forget her name. “I wasn’t expecting you…wasn’t the past Friday just one night go?”

 

She smiled coyly at him and toyed with the hem of her dress.

 

“Well, I had a…good impression of you and you know…” John felt a blush creeping all the way his face, “I thought it would be fun if today was a lucky day too.”

 

He knew, yes. But he hoped Sherlock wasn’t paying too much attention to him.

 

 _‘Right. No such luck.’_  He felt Sherlock's pale eyed stare boring in his skull intensely.

 

At that moment Molly approached the circle, and with she came Lestrade and the red-haired guy, who was presented as Luke. She started a conversation with Mary Morstan -now he remembered her full name- while John let himself exhale a sigh of relief. _'That was a close call'_  , he thought.

 

While everyone was mostly distracted, John used his opportunity to escape. The loo was as good a hideout as any other place. He might as well spend the whole night there, for all what mattered; his stomach wasn’t in a good mood for more drinks anyway. Or for more strong emotions either.

 

On the whole, the events of the night were only destined for disaster. All he really wanted was to return to Baker Street with some of his dignity intact, at least.

 

“You had sexual intercourse with her.”

 

He jolted; Sherlock was blocking the entry to the bathroom.

 

“Stop that! At least make some noise so I have an idea when you’re fucking stalking me, Sherlock!”

 

“You're the only one here who is acting suspicious,” Sherlock's sharp eyes focused on him.

 

“What do you mean? An by the record, asking someone if they had had ' _sexual intercourse_ ' with someone is really bad manners, Sherlock. Who says those words these days, anyway? It's called sex, which is still  _none of your business_.” John spat with bewilderment.

 

“What I'm  _referring to,"_ continued the taller man with the same carefully low voice and like John's remark didn't affect him at all, "is about how eager you are for me to drop the subject and return to the daily basis where I pretend I don’t know what you do at these…social events and you treat me as some kind of idiot,” he said in a measured tone.

 

John braced himself; if he was having  _this_   conversation then he wouldn’t act shy about it, better act as a responsible adult.

 

_Sort of._

 

"Ok, fine. You've already deduced something about it, haven't you? Enlighten me then, Sherlock," maybe John was stalling, maybe not. So sue him.

 

“I had deduced thus far that half the crowd in this room had been sharing acts of a sexual fashion over the past-weeks; most of them taking liberties out of these recreational encounters. The other half are either too prudish or not interested at all,”

 

Sherlock fixed him with an intense glare.

 

“Judging by the look most of the female individuals in the room were sending your way, I’d wager to say you’ve been shagging  _all_  of them. Adding the fact that the woman who just approached you confirmed this theory…” he paused, narrowed his eyes at John and continued, “Is there something you’d like to tell me, John?”

 

John wanted to erase that knowing smirk, really badly. Damn Sherlock and his fucking glorious deductions. He really knew how to push someone.

 

“Two men”

 

Sherlock eyes furrowed,

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Two men, I have snogged two men as well.”

 

Something flickered through the detective’s pale eyes but was gone too fast for the doctor to catch it. He thought it might as well be disappointment.

 

John clenched his jaw and waited for the blow.

 

And waited.

 

There wasn’t any reply, sly retort, or nasty remark. Nothing.

 

Just tense, awkward silence.

 

In the end he was the one who broke it by clearing his throat.

 

“It’s a game called Truth or Dare,” John explained “Where a person has to decide between answering a question truthfully or performing a  _dare_.”

 

Left unsaid was the usual nature of the  _dare_. It switched constantly between embarrassing and dangerous. Last Friday, for example, Greg went  _down_  a random girl from the Met.

 

_And speaking of the devil._

 

“John, the guys are waiting, are you ready?” the Detective Inspector approached them with a grin “I suppose you’re coming too, Sherlock, aren’t you?”

 

 _Sherlock_ , of all the people, playing with them?

 

The infuriating man playing sexual games with the entire Yard?

 

He could have choked with laughter if he wasn’t choking already with his spit at the affirmative nod the consulting detective gave Lestrade.

 

 

*****

 

They were arranged in a circle on the floor in Greg’s sitting room. It began as usual, with the person who lost the bet of the last weekend giving the first spin. This time it was a skinny bloke from SO8 division, who had to pay for all the pizzas delivered that night.

 

At first the game was flooded with safe questions as ice-breakers. Everyone was having fun.

 

John, on the contrary, was having a hard time trying to tune out Sherlock’s voice. Without having much luck, really.

 

“Which one?,” came the same question again and again. John swore under his breath.

 

When he was first choosing a spot, he had thought to get away from the consulting detective- _‘_ _prat’_ _his mind supplied-_ in any way. Naturally he was now sitting shoulder to shoulder with him.

 

“Not telling you. You’ll guess it eventually, what’s the point anyway?” he answered, trying to stay collected.

 

“Indeed I will, but I thought of sparing you some unwanted deductions," Sherlock replied.

 

John snorted and looked him in the eye with incredulity.

 

“That would be so unlike you I doubt you’re being serious.” Sherlock frowned and began to speak when a clapping sound cut him off.

 

John realized, annoyed, that he had missed some interesting questions thanks to Sherlock. Now, apparently, the game was finally leveling up.

 

“I choose Molly.” This time it was the lean brunette's turn, from the other side of the circle. “Truth or Dare?” she asked, grinning.

 

Poor Molly gave a shy glance around and decided for dare.

 

“I dare you to give a french kiss to Sally…” the circle burst with wolf whistles and laughter “....and no less than six minutes. I want see tongue or I’d know if you’re cheating!”

 

Well at least that was something to distract himself, thought John.

 

At first the shy approach from Molly was as testing waters, but half a minute into the kiss the dark-skinned officer made an irritated noise and placed her hand behind Molly’s neck, pulling her head more firmly against hers and deepened the kiss.

 

John had to tear his eyes away when he could tell the view was making his blood rush south. He glanced back at his flatmate expecting to joke a little with him, and found himself making the first big mistake of the night.

 

Sherlock wasn’t paying any attention to was happening in front of them.

 

In fact, he was observing John.

 

They locked eyes.

 

John was so immersed in the heat of the moment before that he didn’t reacted fast enough to put his usual mask of indifference in time. He was pinned with all the weight of Sherlock’s piercing stare.

 

The ex-soldier felt like a deer caught in headlights. He was sure his expression was giving away all of his thoughts, yet he couldn’t control it for the life of him. The slender detective was deducing every reaction of his body, making all the connections, John was sure. He was completely vulnerable and at his mercy.

 

John shuddered.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

 

 

*****

 

The dares grew gradually in intensity.

 

The moment everything became _quite over-the-top_ was when Dimmock had to give a semi hand job -over the clothes- to Anderson.  Basically rubbing shamelessly his hand over the other man jeans. Some guests had to excuse themselves to the loo.

 

Sally’s face was epic.

 

It was almost an hour and thirty minutes afterwards, when the rush of the moment was fading, that John felt a little more confident he was safe for the night and won’t have to go through the usual dares he was accustomed to follow in these _gatherings_.

 

But then it was Mary’s turn and she glared knowingly at John.

 

“Truth or Dare, John?”

 

Was it the doctor’s imagination, or was every single pair of eyes in the room looking expectantly at his person? He wasn’t choosing dare; he wasn't stupid enough to tempt it that night _of all the nights_.

 

“Truth,” he said with confidence.

 

“Good, I was sure you’d go for that.” she smiled devilishly, “Be honest- and I hope you know there are detectives in this place with the ability to tell when someone is lying or not- which one of the people you’ve already snogged in this room was the best experience?”

 

John felt as if the air was suddenly pushed out of his lungs. He felt his cheeks filling with blood and surely his ears turned red he had no doubt. Trust his luck to get the trickiest question of the night. He made his best effort to sound nonchalant when answering, “Greg-?”

 

A chorus of guffaws made him blush intensely. Lestrade sent him a kiss across the room and he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Mary pouted, clearly not expecting the tables to turn and, even though she was a little angry, made a non-committal noise.

 

John glanced sideways to Sherlock- the bloody bastard sat there with that smug smile of his that made the doctor see all red.

 

He already _knew._ Apparently hiding that Lestrade was one of the guys he had snogged before was a waste of time with Sherlock, and John didn’t even want to know how the man deduced this on his own. At least to keep some of his dignity for himself for what it mattered, really.

 

It was now his turn to choose anyone, but he didn’t had to ask who was next. The whole room held their breath. The doctor almost savored his triumphant revenge.

 

He made a flourish of turning his whole body to face Sherlock, who only raised an eyebrow amused, _the bastard_.

 

“Okay Sherlock, Truth or Dare?”

 

The shorter man challenged him with his gaze to take the risk. Sherlock answered back with " _Dare_ ".

 

John licked his lips and proceeded to make the second biggest mistake of the night.

 

 

*****

 

The way back to Baker Street in the cab passed in absolute silence. Sherlock remained graciously quiet, not looking John’s direction at all, but to the streetlights passing by instead.

 

It was _fine_ for the doctor, who was already doing the same in his side of the vehicle. John was curled in his seat with his hands in fists, arms wrapped around himself in a gloomy posture.

 

The sandy-haired man had to find the strength in him to keep from doing something really stupid.

 

Like turning in place and punching the infuriating genius next to him.

 

_Or worse-_

 

Kissing him.

 

He was feeling so on edge that his head was spinning. Everything was his fault, and only his.

 

Reliving in his mind what just happened only made things worse and sent all of his nerves buzzing. But even when he didn’t want them, the images kept filling his mind over and over.

 

The only thing he had been aiming for was to erase that confident smile of the other’s man face. He didn’t, by any chance, believe that his own idea of a joke could turn around to bite him hard in the ass.

 

He knew now better that the thought of giving the consulting detective a taste of his own medicine didn’t work in the way he had expected.

 

When daring his best friend to kiss the red haired bloke _Luke,_ in a rather convincing manner- ‘ _Nothing to be ashamed of, Sherlock, is not like you haven’t done this before, right?_ ’- he really wasn’t expecting the man would actually  _do it_.

 

John had to suppress a shiver.

 

It wasn’t the way the taller pinned the poor fellow to the floor with only a look and a little push in the shoulder, or how he had crawled over him in slow motion. It wasn't even the abrupt silence that possessed the circle.

 

Neither was it the moment his large, pale fingers grabbed Luke’s chin and smashed their mouths together firmly, proceeding to fill the whole room with wet, almost obscene and breathy noises.

 

What really took John by surprise, _and tipped his world upside down_ , was how from the beginning of the kiss to the very end, Sherlock was looking at him.

 

John had stared at him with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

 

Nobody else seemed to notice that he was reduced to a state of absolute arousal by Sherlock’s full-force of seduction, and Sherlock's intended target was indeed John.

 

Those mercurial eyes never abandoned John’s.

 

 

He didn’t know when Sherlock stopped kissing Luke or when the bloke made a rush to the bathroom in embarrassment.

 

He didn’t know because the dark haired man kept holding his gaze after he stood, until the moment John stormed out of the room.

 

 

*****

 

When they had arrived back at the flat John strode past Sherlock and into the kitchen.

 

The detective just glared at him and wordlessly perched against the frame of the kitchen’s door, crossing his slender legs by the ankles and sliding his hand in his pockets.

 

After a moment of hesitation John opted to set the kettle and busy himself while searching through the tea blends in the cabinets. He peeked from the corner of his eyes. The detective was following his every movement with a distant look.

 

“I know you have something to say,” John cleared his throat, hoping it sounded like a detached gesture, “You always do, go ahead.” He waved his hands and turned to face Sherlock.

 

The dinner table was between them and John thought of the possibilities of use it as a shield.

 

Sherlock blinked twice before focusing on John.

 

“John, do you-” he seemed to be struggling for the words to come out of his mouth, “-happen to have… _feelings_ for me?”

 

The question was so direct and unexpected that John didn’t find his voice to answer.

 

All the air in the room stilled and John felt how his breath got caught in his throat, making him unable to take a gulp of air and calm his already unsteady heart.

 

Sherlock’s eyes grew impossible larger with astonishment. If John wasn’t having a crisis at the moment he would have laughed a bit at the first time he saw a confused expression in the genius face.

 

The doctor didn’t deny it.

 

What was the point anyway?

 

“Since…when?” Sherlock’s voice what somewhat quiet, unsecure. Almost like the taller man was in his inexperienced way, trying not to scare John away from the conversation.

 

John snorted a little, he really wasn’t running anywhere.  This wasn’t unavoidable, he was outed and he knew how to deal with unnerving situations better than the man in front of him. For god’s sake, he was a _soldier!_ Some days he still is. He even served in _Afghanistan!_

 

He wondered. When all of this started? Where feelings for Sherlock always there or was it gradual?

 

The madman was his friend- his best friend, actually. They’d been sharing a flat for a year. They were always together, chasing criminals over the night in central London or spending time in Baker Street. Anyone could tell they were attached at the hip by all means. The only moments they ended up separate were when Sherlock visited the morgue at Bart's and when John went to work at the clinic or on a date.

 

And that was another issue. John had always thought of himself as straight.

 

Not even in his hormonal younger days in med school, when everyone seemed to be experimenting with their sexuality, or when spending every waking second in the presence of another man or sharing baths with thirty other naked men in the army had he doubted his preferences.

 

But lately he began questioning his so-claimed heterosexuality. Since the very first moment he met Sherlock, everyone thought of them as a couple. He made himself a fool once by inquiring too much in the consulting detective’s affairs that first dinner at Angelo’s. Though he wasn’t expecting the man to object to a male relationship, he was utterly surprised when he found himself disappointed at Sherlock’s words of ‘ _married to my work’_.

 

He should have known that if the most intelligent and observant man he have ever meet in his life thought John was making a move on him….well, he couldn’t be so straight as he proclaimed, now could he?

 

But John was blinded by everyone's suggestions that he was  _gay_. First was Mrs. Hudson, then Mycroft and soon after, every single person who approached them.

 

At some point, he thought he might give it a shot and try if he had any sort of reaction by kissing someone from the same sex as him. And that’s why he never refused the two times he was dared to kiss two men in the game. First it was Greg and after it, Anderson.

 

Admittedly, it was an interesting revelation. Maybe looking at other men wasn’t a thing for John. But that wasn’t surprising; he wasn’t so much as of a voyeur so he never stared that much to anyone, and even less at naked men that had his trust to not to ogle them in a sexual way while taking a shower in the middle of a battle camp.

 

But if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed those kisses. They were rough and nothing he was accustomed to when kissing a woman. There was a lot of stubble and strong hands grabbing almost painful at shoulders. Strong jaws as well and very hard chests. And John was aroused as long as they lasted.

 

He took a deep breath. So he was bisexual, then.

 

Well, that didn’t felt really awful. It was kind of exhilarant. To be a man his age and find things about himself at this point in his live, well he was hardly expecting it. Yet he wasn’t scared neither disgusted with knowing this.

 

The real question here was ‘ _Is he in love with Sherlock?_ ’

 

 

He wanted to punch himself square in the face for being so bloody obtuse. The signals were around him all the time and all he needed was to be drooling after his flatmate’s every movement –from his early morning tousled curls to his elegant controlled gestures when speaking to someone who was pissing him off - to realize that he was, indeed, infatuated with the man.

 

He loved Sherlock, _shit._

 

The childish and yet fascinating man who gave John new reasons to live and who filled every moment of his life with excitement.

 

‘ _I’m in love with Sherlock Holmes, god help me’_.

 

John startled when he felt a cold hand pressing against his cheek.

 

Sherlock have moved closer in the time he had been distracted by his own thoughts.

 

“John, I need to…” he was whispering, pale eyes flickering rapidly over his features, looking intensely for something; John didn’t know what kind of face he was making or what Sherlock found in his eyes, but he seemed to come to a decision. “I need to test something.”

 

John trembled; where had his speaking abilities gone when he most needed them?

 

Sherlock was still waiting for approval. He didn’t know for what. Well, he had a faint idea but he was a bit scared, this was too soon.

 

And yet it wasn’t new. It was there all the time, wasn’t it?

 

John nodded the slightest.

 

And before John could utter any attempt of a word or question, Sherlock leaned down and pressed soft parted lips against his.

 

He felt a shiver traveling down his body. Sherlock grabbed his hips with both hands and bent his head more to the right in order to deepen the kiss. John panted at the feeling of a tongue licking his bottom lip and in a matter of seconds his mouth was being ravaged.

 

What he thought would be a chaste kiss became something else. Something _entirely else._ It was hot, and sloppy and fucking glorious.

 

John grasped Sherlock’s upper arm to anchor himself from the sensations.

 

He needed. _He needed_.

 

 

“Sher- Sherlock,” he was trying to say something but his mind was a complete mess.

 

The other’s man body pressed further and John moaned as he felt something hard rubbing against him.

 

“Oh, John,” Sherlock mouthed as he paused to breathe, and then claimed the shorter man’s lips over and over, “John, my dearest John.”

 

An odd, warm tingle filled his stomach.

 

He wanted to touch and drown in the feeling with bold urgency, but there was something they needed to do, what was it?

 

What –oh.

 

His mind fumbled through the haze

 

John pushed Sherlock’s shoulders a fraction, trying to make some space between them and when the other man wasn’t move he added pressure. Their lips parted with a wetly and almost obscene sound.

 

When John opened his eyes he felt a hot wave of lust wash over him.

 

Sherlock's pupils were so dilated that they almost eclipsed the pale ring around them, gleaming with something almost similar to hunger.

 

For John.

 

Like reading what passed through the doctor’s mind he slowly licked his swollen lips and John gave a sharp gasp.

 

He would gladly take what he had in front of him, _whatever it was_ what Sherlock was offering.

 

But it wasn’t enough.

 

They had something, they were friends. He couldn’t just destroy the camaraderie they lived with. Not with just a moment of lust from the detective that would leave John craving for more the next day, and the next day after it until his feelings stopped struggling with his heart.

 

And what would that mean for Sherlock?

 

“Whatever you’re thinking of, John, stop it,” a gravelly voice made him return to the actual moment.

 

Sherlock’s fingers were playing slow circles on his hips; somewhat he managed to pull his hand under John’s shirt, and sending shivers down his spine. He was drowning in everything that was Sherlock Holmes and he couldn’t think straight like this. He needed to get some space to regain some control over his body.

 

Noticing John’s uncertainty the taller man hurried to speak.

 

“No, John, listen” Sherlock’s firm tone made him hesitate. His eyes were heavy with concern, “You need to know this is not just an experiment; I’m not just proving a point here.”

 

John swallowed.

 

“Wh-” he was aware his expression must have been raw with need and hope, making him vulnerable. He cleared his throat and tried again, “What is then, Sherlock?”

 

A little smile crossed the detective’s lips. “This is me trying to say - rather inefficient as has resulted- that I might have feelings for you as well, doctor.”

 

Sherlock called him 'doctor' as a kind of intimate joke, but he barely registered it. He was regarding Sherlock with a shocked and incredulous expression, his jaw hung open.

 

“Are you playing with me, Sherlock? Because if you…” he was abruptly cut off by a smooth peck on the lips.

 

His mind went blank.

 

They stood in the middle of the kitchen sharing wet, slow and teasing kisses for god only knows how long.

 

When they parted again, John felt like he was floating.

 

“I can’t believe it,” his voice was barely audible, “I must be dreaming and soon I’ll wake up with a hangover and realized everything was product of my imagination and blame it on having too many drinks at the party.”

 

Sherlock chuckled and circled John’s waist until he was completely trapped by his hot, living body from the front and the cold counter at his back.

 

John could only stare at his smile which grew playful.

 

“In those dreams of yours….do we extend these moments a step further, by any chance?”

 

It took him a whole moment to process what Sherlock was saying; when it clicked in his mind, he had to suppress another shiver.

 

“Uhm, maybe sometimes.”

 

He tried to sound more collected than he was feeling but the thing was he wasn’t sure what his emotions were doing anymore.

 

One moment he was struggling with his sexuality and the next one Sherlock Holmes had pinned him to the kitchen counter and was snogging him senseless. He was surprised to even be standing on his own legs when he felt as though they could barely support him.

 

Sherlock's eyelids were halfway closed as he watched John from underneath his almost unfairly long eyelashes.

 

A very slow, very mischievous grin played on Sherlock’s face.

 

The space between them felt like trickled with electricity. The air left John’s lungs.

 

They closed the distance and the doctor tangled his right hand in Sherlock’s hair and tugged towards him to capture those exquisite lips once again.

 

John knew he wouldn’t ever get tired of his mouth.

 

 

*****

 

At some point in the middle of the groping they reached the bedroom.

 

John barely realized when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, sending them down on in a mess of limbs.

 

Greedy kisses grew in intensity while hands pulled and slipped on sweat and flesh.

 

The heavy feeling boiling in the pit of his stomach was making him edgy.

 

He tried to open Sherlock’s shirt with clumsy hands but the detective moved them aside and instead opened the cuffs and the first two buttons to let it slip over his head.

 

When all that creamy white skin was revealed, John felt his mouth watering. Sherlock was slim -to be expected with his eating and sleeping habits- but with toned muscles. John sprawled his hand on the other’s man torso, feeling the warm and silky-soft skin. Sherlock’s eyes screwed shut.

 

He pinched a nipple and was rewarded with a gasp. John closed his mouth around the other nipple and licked, then did the same to its lonely twin until they became pointed and hard. He felt hands tangle in his hair and the other’s man breath became labored.

 

John’s head was suddenly pulled away and he had a clear view of the ceiling while Sherlock assaulted his neck, licking from the collarbone to his earlobe, leaving a wet path behind. He shuddered, feeling as if his whole body was on fire.

 

“Sherlock ah, Sher-” Steady hands undid his trousers and they were unceremoniously shoved down, leaving him in only in his red briefs.

 

“John, if you don’t stop saying my name like that, I’ll have to do something to shut you down," Sherlock grunted.

 

“Or…..you could put something in there maybe?”

 

Sherlock went momentary still, then raised his head and looked at him with eyes almost predatory. John didn’t repeat it twice. Suddenly there was a rush of a belt, clothes and shoes removed and being tossed across the room and pants pushed down.

 

John only hesitated when his thumbs were in the waistband of the detective’s black boxers.

 

This was his first time with a man. He felt like teenager all over again, afraid of screwing his future opportunities with the most fucking sexy man he had ever met.

 

“John, you don’t have to do this.” When he looked up, Sherlock’s concerned expression helped him make his decision.

 

In front of him was a hard, thick and leaking erection.

 

The flesh was darker than the rest of Sherlock's body and deliciously flushed. He licked his lips and had to shut his eyes to the overwhelming wave of desire that washed over him when a little whine escaped Sherlock’s mouth.

 

He closed the gap and gave him a teasing lick. A spasm went through Sherlock and John had to retreat a little. “Are you..?”

 

“Do-don‘t stop!” Sherlock breathed out with a shiver.

 

He returned to his ministrations with licks and open-mouthed kisses. Heavy breathing filled the room

 

When he closed his lips around the head, Sherlock’s hips bucked hard involuntary.

 

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t” Sherlock's babbling was cut off and words fled of him when John began sucking the tip.

 

Shaking hands rounded his shoulder blades, keeping him in place as John hollowed his cheeks and slide down, a strong hand on the base already keeping it steady.

 

All insecurities went out at the window of his own conscience.

 

It was sloppy, and he had to fight his gag reflex but was encouraged every second by Sherlock’s gasps and moans slowly growing in intensity. This was his first time doing this but he already knew what a good blowjob felt like and he had some ideas of what to do to make the other man felt it as pleasurable as possible. He was not shy of admit he had really good sex partners who did amazing job on him and he was grateful to have at least a marching point.

 

He himself felt much too close. His head was spinning madly with the lack of oxygen and a burning pleasure in his own groin.

 

Somebody was moaning and he didn’t know if it was Sherlock or himself.

 

He pumped up and down while swirling his tongue and sucking, all at the same time.

 

He was hastily pushed back without warning. For a moment he stared in confusion, then had to bite back a growl.

 

Sherlock was trembling violently. His shaking hands enclosed around John’s wrists like it was a matter of life or death, like John was the only anchoring him to earth; trying to keep hold of them to stay in the real world. His face and neck were flushed and his breathing was harsh and labored.

 

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John tried to remember what was supposed to be done in case of a heart attack from arousal. Was that a thing that happened frequently when someone was deep in pleasure? He had some cases but, he thought it was more common in older people? Maybe he was mistaken and he-?

 

“No, this is not a case of death for asphyxia during sex, John,” Sherlock made his ‘Don’t be stupid face’ and John blushed deeply, “But if you keep doing that I won’t last, John.” The words were merely a whisper as the detective tried to compose himself.  They locked eyes, John swallowed, the hunger still palpable in the air.

 

He wouldn’t last too much longer either, he knew. He took deep breaths, trying to regain some control.

 

When both men were much more calmed, Sherlock reached down and liberated John’s erection from his pants. He closed his long, violinist's fingers over the tip, spreading the precum over the it.

 

“Oh, that’s…ah, that’s good, yes, keep doing it,” his voice was rough after sucking Sherlock. He rested his head on the detective’s shoulder and focused only on the sensations.

 

Both men were panting.

 

A sudden twist of Sherlock’s wrist made a wave of pleasure flash up John’s spine, making him bit hard on the detective’s shoulder, eliciting an unexpected answer from his partner.

 

Sherlock stopped abruptly and looked him, astonished.

 

And all at once they were over each other with desperate need.

 

Sherlock’s large, warm hand slipped down between them and began stroking John’s already painful erect dick and his own together, with fast and eager movements.

 

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock oh fuck - _fuck!_ ”

 

John gripped Sherlock’s plump ass as he moaned in ecstasy.

 

“John, ah,  _John_ ”

 

Everything was messy and wet and  _perfect_.

 

They kissed hard, with tongues ravishing, panting and moaning. Hands leaving nail marks on every centimeter of skin they could reach.

 

Their hips collided in deliberate thrusts. The hot, delicious ache in them was boiling with each stroke.

 

“Sher…I-I’m..ah…I won’t-”

 

The hand in his cock speeded up. He arched, toes curling.

 

His orgasm exploded.

 

The room went white.

 

There was a noise in John’s ears and his eyes rolled back.

 

 

*****

 

He didn’t know how long it lasted but, after what felt like an eternity, the blissful and numb feeling in his extremities began fading and the colors returned, the silhouettes of the furniture in the room were defined again and his hearing came back.

 

Sherlock was laying limb over him, panting and gulping air.

 

John slowly emerged from his daze. The mingled cum started to feel cold and sticky in his belly but he didn’t have the energy to go for a tissue, so he just wiped it off with the bed sheet.

 

He wouldn’t be able to stand for at least an hour that was for sure. His heart was still racing and his body quivering with the aftershocks.

 

He lowered down his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.

 

“That was _amazing._ ”

 

Both men chuckled.

 

“Where’s the brilliant?” inquired the dark haired detective with a smirk.

 

“Oh that too, definitely brilliant!” John smiled fondly, “You’re brilliant.”

 

Sherlock quirked up an eyebrow,

 

“You weren’t that bad too.”

 

John snorted and punched him playfully in the ribs.

 

“Better rethink that sentence; I clearly remember somebody was whining not a long time ago.”

 

A blush crept up the detective’s neck and he darted his eyes away.

 

John reached down and timidly caressed the shoulder nearest to him. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock liked to cuddle, John definitely was one for it.

 

“I am too.”

 

John paused.

 

“Are you reading my mind?”

 

“No, John, don’t be dull now,” Sherlock watched him closely, “I’m a cuddle person,” he said in the end, “…or mostly, when it comes to the right person.”

 

John’s heart made a double backflip in his chest.

 

He gulped and slowly met Sherlock's eyes. Slowly and with some fear to be rejected, he asked, “Am I the right person, then, Sherlock?”

 

There was a moment of hesitation.

 

This was the key moment in the detective’s hand to change their lives, their future. And when he answered his voice was charged with something near to shyness.

 

“Do you remember Moriarty’s words at the pool?”

 

The doctor was confused at the sudden reference, but he nodded slowly, “Lots of things, Sherlock, which one-”

 

“He said he wanted to burn the heart out of me.”

 

John clearly remembered, even though the criminal was talking nonsense about revenge and….. _Oh_.

 

“Oh.” John’s brain functions stopped.

 

Sherlock snorted with fondness wrapped his arm around John’s torso, resting his head over the doctor’s chest.

 

“Yes, John.  **It was you.** ”

.

.

.

 

**THE END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe in a near future i'll work on more stories, it depends of how much people hate/love this one. But this is my special gift for this prompt and the line was beautiful and I loved to work with it :)
> 
> ..........
> 
> I made minor edits and some added paragraphs to the story, I realized time had come to change it a little bit and make it more enjoyable. Cheers!


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